


Sound The Bugle Now

by CassieMurdoch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, I don't know what I'm doing, I wrote this instead of studying, M/M, We shall see what happens, this is an experiment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-07-17 11:05:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16094390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieMurdoch/pseuds/CassieMurdoch
Summary: Morgan James doesn't need help. She certainly doesn't need a couple of flannel-wrapped giants getting in the way of her justice. But hey, maybe they're all right. And maybe she can help them get some justice along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

           

**Somewhere in North Dakota**

The sound of metal hacking through bone is not a pleasant one. It’s unnatural and honestly it shouldn’t sound pleasant. The day that’s a good sound is the day you should worry about your sanity.

            The sound of a monster dying, however? _That_ is a great sound. I never get tired of that sound. Mr. Monster died with a gurgle and a weird little whine, like he couldn’t believe little old me had actually gotten the drop on him. Silly of him, really. He’d clearly heard of me. Stupid bastard should have seen this coming, honestly.

            By my count, he was the last one of the nest. I wiggled my blade to get it unstuck from the vertebrae. I sighed and wiped a strand of hair away from my forehead. I wiped the blood off the machete with a rag from the floor. As my body relaxed and the adrenalin started to fade away, I could feel the knots in my shoulders start to ache, and the various and sundry cut and bruises all over my body started to burn. Coming down after a hunt was always painful. I usually felt like I just wanted to sleep for a week.

            Of course, sometimes it was hard to come down. There were a few times…but we don’t think about those times. Nope. We ignore them and when they refuse to be forgotten, we drink until we pass out. Totally healthy, I know.

Totally not healthy is being so exhausted by this weeklong chase that you don’t hear that pesky fifth vamp until she’s right on top of you and sinking her filthy fangs into your neck. Totally not cool is screaming like a little girl because _fuck_ that hurts. Totally not good is falling on your own machete and feeling it slice your arm open. Totally not going to make my week any easier is blacking out from blood loss before I can kill the bitch. Dammit.

 

I woke up predictably tied to a chair, and predictably and disgustingly gagged with a filthy rag. I opened my eyes slowly, adjusting to the near darkness. I kept my frame limp, slumped over like I was still unconscious, while I took in what I could see of my surroundings. It looked like I was in a house. A filthy, dilapidated house full of so many code violations it was probably condemned, but a house nonetheless. There was burlap sacking over the windows, but I could see that it was getting dark outside. Not good. If the creature that took me out had any buddies, they’d be coming out of the woodwork as soon as the sun went down.

I carefully tested the rope binding my arms to the chair, and almost cried out. Damn. Forgot about that cut on my arm. That hurt, and it started bleeding again at the slight movement. The ropes were frayed and worn, but functional enough that I was going to have to put real effort into getting loose. My ankles were similarly bound, but I felt a wiggle in one of the legs of the chair. I could get out of that. I glanced at the windows again, and saw my machete leaning against the wall under them.

A sound to my left made me tense up. “Oh great. The hunter bitch is awake. Hey, Ramsey, come and have a look-see.” It was the female I’d missed.

A short male sauntered into the room, looking very monster-chic in his filthy jeans and ragged jacket. His hair hung in his face, greasy from a chronic lack of soap. “Well, pretty lady. Awake and alert, I see. And how are we feeling?” I snarled an expletive at him through the gag. “Now then, is that any way for a lady to speak?” He moved closer to me, lifting my head with a single filthy nail under my chin. “We’re going to have to teach you some manners, I see.” I laughed.

            “Why is she laughing? They don’t usually laugh.” The female sounded nervous.

            “Let’s ask her.” He yanked the grimy rag from my mouth.

            I licked my lips and stretched my jaw experimentally. I laughed softly again. “You’re just so pathetically unoriginal, Dracula. Really? ‘Teach me some manners’? Is that the extent of your threatening capabilities? Frankly, I’m not impressed.” I saw his shoulder hitch and braced myself before his fist connected with my jaw. I spat blood. “Wow. I would say you hit like a girl, but that would be offensive to the ladies in the room.”

            His lips curled up in what I assume was supposed to be an intimidating snarl, but it was marred by the fact that I was not intimidated. “Well I guess we’ll just have to cut this little chat short, pretty lady. Unfortunate, but we didn’t capture you for your smart mouth.” He moved closer to me, sniffing at my throat and the wound his lady friend had left there.

            “Well if it’s not for my charming and delightful personality, why am I here?” I needed him to stay distracted. Problem was, I didn’t do “charm” and I didn’t do “begging for my life like a wuss”.

            “We’re going to make an example of you. We know you’re alone, and we know that you’re always alone. But we’re going to drain you and then string you up to be found by other hunters. Then they’ll know not to mess with the Ramsey Clan.”

            “Oh you have your own clan?! How exciting for you! I bet your mother is so proud.” I didn’t see the blow coming, this time to midsection. Ouch. I forgot that makes you see stars.

            “She was, bitch. But you killed her. Took off her head like she was a common monster.”

            “That’s the thing,” I gasped slightly, “she was a common monster. Just like you pal. Common and unoriginal. How unfortunate for you.” His heavy boot connected with my knee with a sickening sort of _crunch_. I admit, I yelled about that one.

            The female tugged at his jacket. “Ramsey, just kill her already. We don’t know who she told about us.”

            “Nah, we have time, sweetheart.” He shoved my head down and yanked my shirt out of the way. “See? See that mark? That proves who she is.” He released me and pointed at my wrists. “See those marks too? Those could be copied, but there’s only one hunter with those three tattoos. This is Morgan James. She works alone. She hasn’t told anyone about us. We have all the time in the world.”

            “Wow! I’m so flattered. I wasn’t aware that I had gained such notoriety amongst the Ramsey Clan of North Dakota. Look, I’m blushing.”

 He punched my head again.

 “I’ve always dreamed of being famous.”

His fist uncurled and his nails dragged across my face with the next blow.

“This is just, huge.” I choked on blood this time. Yay.  

He roared in frustration, and finally went for the kill. This is what I had been waiting for. I jerked away from him as he lunged for my throat, using all of my weight to throw the chair to the ground. The rickety leg snapped off, and one of the arms cracked. I wrenched the arm of the chair free and used that hand to grab the vamp’s throat, holding him off of me. With a kick, my other leg was free. I used both legs the catapult him away from me, as I leapt up and swung the wrecked chair at the attacking female. It broke apart as it struck her. I lunged for the windows and grabbed my machete. Stupid of them to leave that there. It took me second to cut my hands free of the broken chair, but not long enough for the two vamps to fully recover. It was a point of pride for me that I hit rather hard.

A basic rule of hand-to-hand combat is to eliminate the most dangerous opponent as quickly and effectively as possible. Unfortunately, the female was too close to ignore. She was staggering to her feet, fangs extending. She growled at me, and I laughed. It probably sounded a bit maniacal. Three seconds later, her growl died to a gurgle, and her head thumped to the floor. I turned to the male. He was understandably enraged.

With a half-scream, he lunged toward me. I couldn’t get my machete up as quickly as I needed to with my various injuries, so I caught the brunt of his attack on my right shoulder as I ducked and spun away. Dropping low, I swept at his legs and swung my blade at his hamstrings, knocking him to the ground, his legs useless. I moved quickly, my boot on his chest. “That hurt, you fucker.” I tossed my blade to my left hand, and swung down hard. Not my cleanest kill, but what can you say…it was a weird angle.

I wiped a strand of hair from my face, probably smearing vampire insides all over my face. Oh well. I winced as my body once again started coming down from the kill. I’ll be honest; this hunt had not gone as smoothly as it probably should have. Maybe I needed a break. But for now, I just had to figure out where I was.

I stepped outside of the house, watching my peripherals closely. I really didn’t want another surprise attack. It looked clear, although it was just about dusk, and visibility wasn’t good. I took in my surroundings. I almost laughed with relief when I saw that I was on a hill looking down over a scattering of farm buildings. The last light of day glinted off of something, and I realized I was less than half a mile from my truck. Maybe there is a God.

Walking downhill sounds great until you’re doing it after significant blood-loss and possible head trauma. I think I only fell down a couple of times though. By the time I got to my truck, it was fully dark, and I had to strain to see the ground in front of me. I half-heartedly wiped my machete on the grass and tossed it in the toolbox on the bed. I already had it on my list to clean and organize the whole box. One more haphazardly stored deadly weapon wouldn’t kill me.

I didn’t bother with first aid without light. I knew I was still bleeding from my arm and my neck, but I just wanted out of there. Even the apparently famous Morgan James needed her beauty sleep.

I put the run down farm and its collection of dead vamps in the rear-view mirror, and headed south. I heard Nebraska was nice this time of year. Might even go see the folks.


	2. Chapter 2

Lebanon, Kansas

“You see that message from Garth?” Dean was still working on his first cup of coffee and mumbled something unintelligible in response. Sam rolled his eyes. “A nest of six vamps in North Dakota that had been growing and terrorizing the area was taken out last night.”   
“Good for Garth.”  
“Wasn’t him. He thinks it was that one hunter Ron Carter mentioned. You know him? Hunter out of Omaha? Remember he said there were a couple of hunters taking out big game all over the Midwest a few months ago? Whole packs of werewolves and nests of vamps, and even a couple Vetali? Well, now he’s saying it’s not a team, but a loner. And apparently, it’s a woman. Making quite a name for herself.”  
“Good for her. She’ll probably be dead in a month.”  
“I was thinking we should maybe find her. She might be good backup.” Sam glanced at his brother’s profile. He didn’t look like he’d slept.   
“Our backup tends to die, Sam.”  
“Not always. Cas is fine.”  
“Cas has died almost as many times as I have. I don’t think that counts as ‘fine’, Sammy.” Dean swallowed the last of the coffee, grimacing at the cup like it had offended him. “So let’s leave the girl alone. She’s doing just fine on her own.”   
“Yeah, alright. You’re probably right.” Sam pulled a book off the table and flipped it open to the marked page. “So I was thinking. Remember those mutilations we found in South Dakota? No sign of a werewolf or demons, but what if it was witches? Look at this.” He spun the book and slid it towards Dean, who scanned the page in front of him.   
“Really? You think they’re doing some kind of…what is this…strengthening ritual?”  
“It’s the only thing that makes any sense. They’ve take a heart, a liver, eyes, and a lung. I think they’re doing something like what’s in that book.”  
Dean rubbed a hand through his short hair and stood up. “Alright. Where in South Dakota?”  
“Hot Springs. It’s about 8 hours.”  
“Better get a move on, then. See you at the car, fifteen minutes.” Dean made his way to his room and shoved a couple clean shirts and an extra knife in his duffle. He was tired. But maybe killing a witch would do him some good. There was never a dull moment when you were hunting a witch. 

Middle of Nowhere, Nebraska

I had stopped for gas at the corner market in Hot Springs. I had found a truck stop outside Bismarck where I stopped and stitched myself up, but after that hunt, I really wanted to get out of there. Once I had cleaned the fang wounds and stitched up the gash on my arm, I showered and got back on the road.   
Now, roughly six hours later, it was still dark, and I was parked on the ridge overlooking the valley where I grew up. The land dropped away from the ridge, all grass and badland formations. It looked barren and a little unearthly under the moonlight, but it was still home. I dropped the truck into gear and rolled off the ridge, headed for the center of the valley.   
I still knew the rough dirt roads like the back of my hand, despite not coming back here for a good five years. As I took the turn onto another road, the gravel spraying slightly as my truck fishtailed on a loose patch of dirt, I let my mind wander back to why I hadn’t come back. I still remembered everything.   
We crouched down behind the couch, trying to breathe quietly, but the terror making it impossible. My littlest brother looked back me, his big blue eyes wet with tears. “Morgan, I’m afraid.” I tried to soothe him, but the tears kept flowing. I could hear the monster in the next room. He was humming something to himself. But he never spoke.   
My mother backed into the living room, her hands held up in front of her. “Please. Please, no.” The monster came in, a gun held loose in his hand. He grinned. He raised the gun. He pulled the trigger. My mother fell to the ground.   
He walked around the couch. He turned towards us. I shielded my three siblings with my body, shaking horribly. I was crying. He raised the gun again. His eyes flickered pure black as he smiled. I felt the bullet rip through my chest. The pain was blinding. I fell. I couldn’t move.   
He started laughing as he pulled the trigger three more times. I screamed. Claire’s dark curls were sticky. Jordan’s chocolate skin was spattered with dark liquid. John’s blonde hair turned black with blood as the life faded from his clear blue eyes.   
The door opened behind me. My father walked in, his face frozen in shock as he took in the scene. The monster licked his teeth as he turned the gun on my father. The bullet cracked through the air. My father crumpled to the ground beside me. I screamed as I watched the blood trickle across his face.   
The monster stood over me. His eyes were flat and entirely black. A wicked grin split his face. He raised the gun a final time. This time the bullet tore into my abdomen. My vision flashed white with pain. I reached my hand towards my sister, her brown eyes glassy in death, a trickle of blood falling from her full lips. Everything went black. 

 

I shook myself. The next thing I remembered from that night was waking up in the hospital in Rapid City. The rest, as they say, is history. I dug into the lore I didn’t know existed. I learned. I trained. I practiced. I hunted. I haven’t found the demon that slaughtered my family. But I will.   
I reached into the back seat and pulled out a mostly full fifth of whiskey. I hopped out of the truck and turned up the collar of my coat. The five simple headstones in the tiny graveyard were the newest ones in a cemetery with headstones that dated back as far as the early 1800s. I sat down against the tree at the end of the row. I touched the headstone nearest me. “Hey guys. Care for a drink?”   
John would be eighteen this year, old enough to join the army. Jordan would be nineteen, probably playing college ball. Claire would be twenty-two. She would be her no-nonsense self. She probably would have married Jeremy from college, maybe had a kid by now. Dad would have still been running the ranch. Mom would have figured out how to grow strawberries in alkaline soil.   
But none of that was true. Because they were dead. I poured out a few splashes over their graves, and tipped the bottle back, the alcohol burning harshly down my throat. “I almost joined you guys yesterday. Got caught off guard. But hey, Johnny, thanks for beating me up that one time I stole your tactical knife. I wouldn’t have been able to make it without that experience.”   
I pulled that same knife out of the sheath strapped to my lower leg. I kept it sharp and clean, like he would have wanted me to. “I’m sorry. I should have been able to protect you. I should have warned you, Daddy. I should have covered you, John. I know you were afraid. We were all so afraid. I’m so sorry.”   
I could feel it welling up in my chest, that impossible, horrible, unrelenting pain. It happened sometimes. “I haven’t found him yet. But I will. I’ll find him. And I know how to kill him. Not just send him back to Hell. I know how to kill him. And I will.”   
I shrugged out of my coat and rolled up my left sleeve. My head felt like it was going to explode. “I swear to you all. You will be avenged.”   
I touched the knife to my forearm, just below the gash from my machete. With the slightest pressure, it broke the skin. I dragged it across the flesh, exhaling with relief as the blood beaded bright and quick against my pale skin. It ran down my arm across the other slim white scars. I knew I was sick. And I didn’t care. I was fine. I was handling myself and living my life. I was a killer, and I was good at it. This world doesn’t leave room for feelings, no matter how strong they are. And so I released the impossible, horrible, unrelenting pain through the small cuts to my arm.   
It took a dozen cuts before I was able to let my mind slip into the numbed, laser-focused state where I operated most of the time. I would be fine. I would find the demon that had taken my family. I would kill him. And then I would put a bit more pressure on my brother’s blade, and let the pain flow until it all went black. 

I had a lantern set on the rickety table in the old house. I was in Ardmore, which was basically a ghost town at this point, so I wasn’t worried about anyone seeing the light. I pulled up the articles about the Hot Springs murders I had saved on my laptop, and set my heels on the table. When I’d first seen it, I thought maybe it was the demon. But I wasn’t sure now. I’d have to check for sulfur, but I didn’t think I would find any. The combination of heart, liver, lung, and eyeballs reminded me of an old spell I’d read about years ago. If I was right, it was the recipe for some powerful spellwork. It would give the witch whose blood was used the power of five witches for as long as the heart would have beat in the chest of its original owner. Considering the heart was from a twenty-five year old male who went for long runs in the Black Hills every morning, it was going to keep on ticking for a good long while.   
The murders were conveniently located in a nice clear pattern around an older section of the town. I was honestly surprised I hadn’t been out here before. With the legends about these springs in the Native American lore, I would have at least expected some disturbed spirits. But maybe this witch had been keeping them quiet.   
I closed the laptop, and marked a starting point for my search tomorrow on my map of the area. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long, and I could get back to hunting the demon. 

 

Hot Springs, South Dakota

 

“Dude, seriously? Pie for breakfast?” Sam tossed his damp t-shirt on the bed. “You’re going to have a heart attack before you’re forty.”  
“Shut up. It’s fruit and cereal. Perfectly healthy.” Dean licked the plastic fork clean of filling. “Did you enjoy your jog, Samuel? Feeling nice and healthful? Maybe I should kick back here, let you gank this witch all by yourself. You being the model of fitness and all, you probably don’t even need me.”   
Sam rolled his eyes as he headed for the shower. “I’ll be three minutes. You agree, that old section of town is a good place to start?”  
“Yeah. Nice neat three mile radius of death.”  
“Alright. Five minutes.”  
Dean checked the action on his M 1911, and made sure his magazine was filled with witch-killing bullets. By the time Sam got out to the Impala, he had Zeppelin blaring as he sang along. He laughed when Sam rolled his eyes.   
…   
I parked my truck on the corner about a half-mile from where I thought the witch was holed up. I checked my weapons. Handgun, loaded with charmed bullets, tucked in my waistband. Hunting knife sheathed against my right thigh. Tactical blade strapped low on my left leg, hidden by the cuff of my jeans. I had a small throwing blade in each boot, just for kicks, no pun intended. I tucked a hex bag into the pocket of my coat. I’d gotten it off a hunting friend a couple of years back, and it usually worked pretty well against most spells.   
I tugged my ponytail tighter, and walked up the street, hands in my pockets. It was dark, but it was still technically a populated street. Best not to look like I was sneaking. I was just about right. A little over half a mile up the street, I started to see the telltale signs of powerful magic being wielded. Dead bushes, dead grass, and etched discretely on the doorjamb of a moderately large house, two hoodoo symbols. Nice to see this witch was mixing it up with the old classics.   
I pulled my gun out and checked the chamber. Good to go. I really preferred knives. My hands were big, but they were still a woman’s hands, which meant that it was hard to find a gun that fit my hand well. But witches were quicker than knives. Thankfully, in my experience, they weren’t much quicker than bullets if you caught them right.   
Pressing myself close to the wall of the house, I moved around to the back. I carefully peered in a window that had a little light emanating from it, but it was covered with blinds. No luck there. The next window didn’t have any blinds over it. Good. I crouched low, careful not to let my profile give me away. I cursed to myself when I saw through the window into what was evidently the living room.   
Three witches, sitting there quietly making hex bags. Seriously? The cliché was too much. Damn it all to Hell. I was good. I was really good. But three witches was a lot of power, and I had one charm. I didn’t want to bite it on this hunt…I had unfinished business. Fine. Well. I knew where they were now. I could map out the area, watch their movements, and come up with a game plan that would hopefully end them before they finished the spell, and leave me standing afterwards.  
I slunk away, careful with where I set my feet. I didn’t want the witches to hear me. I walked back to the truck, mentally planning how I was going to take out three witches by myself. I was almost to the truck when I spotted the car parked behind it. It was a big, black Chevy. Maybe an Impala? Definitely old enough to be a classic. Pretty car, that. The trunk slammed shut. That’s when I heard voices.   
“It’s probably just one witch, Sam. God, I hate witch hunts. Always spewing bodily fluids everywhere. It’s disgusting.” He sounded almost petulant.   
“Ok princess. Whatever. And what if it’s not just one, huh? What are we gonna do then? We can’t exactly call Cas every time we fail to plan properly.” This one sounded more cautious. Smart.  
“If there’re more than one, we’ll take care of it. Like we always do. What’s with you, lately?” Impatient. Not willing to sit still. Guess I understood that.   
Two men walked around from behind the Chevy. I ducked back around my truck, staying silent and out of sight. They were obviously hunters, and from their silhouettes I could tell they were well-armed, but I didn’t want to confront them. There was a reason I worked alone. But I couldn’t exactly let them walk into three witches by themselves. My conscience wouldn’t allow it. Damn it. Looks like this was happening tonight, planning or no.  
I waited for a few minutes to be sure they wouldn’t spot me, and then followed them down the street. I knew they’d found the right house when the street outside lit up with the telltale flashes of light and the sound of breaking glass shattered the stillness of the night air. Damn it all to Hell.


End file.
